An orderly entered saluting.

"Orders from the adjutant, sir," said the soldier, handing Prescott
a folded paper. He handed one like it to Greg, then saluted and
left the room, knocking at the next door.

"Company drill from one to two-thirty," summarized Prescott, glancing
through the typewritten words on the unfolded sheet. "Practice
march by battalions from two-forty-five to three-forty-five.
Squad drill from four o'clock until retreat. That looks brisk, Greg."

"Doesn't it?" asked Holmes, without too plain signs of enthusiasm.
"Company drill and the hike call for our presence, preferably,
and yet I've paper work enough to keep me busy until evening mess."

"Paper work," so-called, is the bane of life for the company commander.
It consists of keeping, making and signing records, of the keeping
and inspection of accounts; it deals with requisitions for supplies
and an endless number of reports.

"I have a barrelful of paper work, too," Dick admitted. "But
I'm going to see everything going well on the drill ground before I
go near company office."

"All good things must end," grunted Greg, rising to his feet, "even
this rest. Mess will be on in eight minutes."

The instant that the door had closed Dick drew off his olive drab
shirt, drew out a lidded box from under the bed and deposited